


Shi

by fetuscakes



Category: Dororo (Anime 2019), Dororo (Manga)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fetuscakes/pseuds/fetuscakes
Summary: What would happen if one brother succeeded in killing the other? What possible endings could there be for the Daigo brothers?





	1. Aniue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I started writing this right after episode 12 of the anime, but episode 13 caught up to me before I could finish and changed a lot of things.  
> It was intended to be a sequel to [Kyoudai](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18067736/chapters/42703226) with the three possible endings, but it didn't quite mesh.  
> Then the lovely [eternal_song](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternal_song/pseuds/eternal_song) suggested this could be a "what-if" scenario more based on the anime than the Kyoudai continuity, which was an excellent idea! Thank you! Also thank you [dreamillusions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamillusions) for the suggestions! it definitely made the chapter flow better

  
The wind howled viciously across the grassland with the cackles of yokai interspersed in it. A lone figure stumbled over every rock and root in his way as he wandered, aimless and dragging an unsheathed sword behind him.

The evil laughter intensified.

_ Why so sad, Hyakkimaru? Did you do something bad? _

The figure looked up and silently cursed his ability to see the spirits floating above him, taunting him.

_ I think he did! I think he did! Just look at that blood on his clothes and sword. You’d think he was a murderer! _

Hyakkimaru bit his lip and started shaking, but he said nothing and continued his tortured trek.

_ How does it feel to have killed your own baby brother? _

“Shut up!  _ Shut up! _ ” Hyakkimaru’s scream was animalistic and venomous, but it did nothing to stop the malicious rejoicing of the yokai.

_ Fratricide is a sin, you know. Enjoy your time in hell! _

With this, the yokai may have left, or the wind increased its intensity, or maybe he had finally gone crazy with grief. Hyakkimaru did not care anymore.

His knees folded and he fell to the ground, still holding onto the muddied sword. His mind writhed with a hundred excuses for what had happened, and all of them fell flat. It was true. He’d done it. He was the one who had run his sword through his brother, Tahomaru.

He could still see it. He could see Tahomaru’s face, filled with rage, striking at him. He saw himself parrying, dodging and then burying that blade in his left arm deep into Tahomaru’s ribs, reaching his lungs, possibly his heart. 

He could see Tahomaru’s face fill with pain, more rage and then — slowly — recognition. He knew he’d die. And he looked directly into Hyakkimaru’s single eye, one he’d won moments ago after slaying the kitsune. He was no longer angry. There was sadness and there was longing and, above all, there was regret in his gaze. Gasping for breath as his lungs filled with blood, he spoke, each word clearly an ordeal. 

“Aniue… I wish we had met… in a different life.” 

Why? Why would he say that? Why would he fill him with doubt in this final hour? Hyakkimaru could only shout his younger brother’s name as he watched his soul depart from his body. And now he was here, in this field of emptiness and yokai. Everything else was a blur. Tahomaru’s retainers — did he kill them too? Dororo had been there — did he hurt him as well? He vaguely remembered pushing him away with more force than necessary. Everything was wrong and twisted.

A sardonic smile stretched across his mouth unnaturally.  _ Daigo Kagemitsu, you wanted to see me dead. Fine, I’ll grant your wish. _

He took the sword he’d been dragging in the mud and held it against his own neck, feeling the cold blade on his skin. One quick slash would do it. 

_ I’m sorry, Dororo. _

But his sword did not slice through his neck. A walking stick held his sword away.

“Don’t do it. That’s not your style.”

Hyakkimaru opened his eyes and saw the wandering monk with the biwa standing over him. His only reply was a feral growl from deep in his throat as he violently shoved the cane away from him. The monk should mind his own business! He wouldn’t understand what he was going through! Hyakkimaru got up and stalked away from the wandering priest, giving him his best threatening glare. A normal man would have wet himself and cowered. Maddeningly, the monk just followed him as casually as if they were taking a leisurely stroll. 

“Do you think leaving will solve your problems? Do you intend to disappear for fifty years?”

Hyakkimaru stomped his steps to show his displeasure, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak. His tongue was stuck in his throat and his arms were trembling. His grip on his sword was so strong his wooden fingers creaked under the strain. 

“And what about the little one? That spitfire thief?”

Hyakkimaru flinched at the mention of Dororo but he forced himself to keep walking away from the blind man. Strange, he didn’t seem to make much headway. He was walking, but it felt as if he was wading through a thick swamp instead. Were the yokai trying to drag him down to hell already?

“Ah, so you’d pass on the responsibility of taking care of that young one to me? Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

“That’s not— he can take care of — just lea—” Hyakkimaru tried to form words but only choked sounds came out. The priest looked at him with bemusedly, not understanding the string of gibberish spilling from Hyakkimaru’s mouth. Before he knew it, he was sobbing. He finally let go of his sword to cover his face with both his hands.

“That’s better, or at least more honest, young warrior.” 

With that, the monk sat down and started casually strumming his biwa, waiting for Hyakkimaru to stop crying. 

“So! You found your birth parents, and they rejected you. You found your little brother, he challenged you to a duel and you killed him. `Tis enough reason to make anyone weep. But you mustn’t lose hope. You have to keep going.”

“C—can’t. Hunt demons, hurt land. I-if I have my body, people would curse me. Mama hates me. I — I killed younger brother.” He could finally speak, but forming real sentences was too much right now. He tried to take a calming breath, and it worked a little, though it was still shaky. “I have… nothing to live for.”

“Nothing, he says! Not even the forgiveness of your unfortunate kin?”

Hyakkimaru wiped his messy face with the back of his sleeve. “What?”

“Your little brother might be dead, but that doesn’t mean he’s beyond your reach. You of all people should know, there are places and times where the world of spirits and ours can convene. If you’re so upset, then say sorry to him.”

Hyakkimaru stared at his left arm, the one containing the sword used for the deed. Was such a thing possible?

* * *

  
  


It took much longer than Hyakkimaru would have liked to find the grave. He couldn’t decide what had been harder: finding Dororo and apologizing to him in earnest or sneaking through the Daigo land when everyone was on high alert to hunt him down for killing the heir. 

But here they were, standing in the graveyard with only the light of the moon guiding Hyakkimaru’s single eye to the correct one. The newest, most prominent one, with fresh incense and offerings in front of it. Hyakkimaru knew his mother had placed those earlier, as he had been stalking this place since daylight despite the danger. Now it was quiet and empty and he tried not to think about her. His heart only had space for one calamity at a time. 

He took off the tengai woven hat he’d been forced to wear to hide his identity. Disguising himself as a komuso monk had been one of Dororo’s more brilliant ideas, he had to admit. But he did not know how long this disguise would hold, as the real monks wouldn’t stay in one place for long and he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. 

Passing the hat to Dororo, he steeled himself and gave him a pointed look. The younger boy gave Hyakkimaru a huff of understanding as he took the hat and walked away to keep guard. Hyakkimaru sighed and thought once again that sometimes he didn’t deserve Dororo. Maybe he didn’t deserve anything. He shook his head, trying to chase the troubling thoughts away. He wanted a clear head to talk to his brother. 

He knelt in front of the grave, lit a stick of incense, and put his hands together in prayer for Tahomaru. He realized then that he didn’t know what he was praying for Tahomaru to do. For his soul to be at rest? For his soul to go to heaven? For his understanding? For forgiveness?

He unclasped his hands and looked at the grave, the cold stone giving him no answers.

“Tahomaru?” His voice was timid, as if unsure he was allowed to speak at all. Despite the normal nighttime sounds surrounding him — the leaves rustling in the wind, the crickets chirping and frogs croaking nearby — he felt an eerie stillness surrounding him.

He remembered what the monk had said; this was something that had to do with spiritual energy. He closed his eyes and focused on the green colour of his prosthetic arm, the golden glow of the graves and the prayer sticks, the white spots which were fireflies lazily flying around him and… the white spirit now sitting on the grave in front of him. 

Hyakkimaru drew an unsteady, broken breath and stopped himself from reaching out to touch the one he knew did not have a physical body.

_ “What do you want? You have some gall, calling me to this world when you were the one who took me out of it.” _ The haughtiness in his brother’s voice startled Hyakkimaru and he nearly laughed in relief because, though annoyed, it held no malice. Tahomaru was not angry. Perhaps it should have been obvious since his spirit was willing to come to talk to him in the first place.   
  
“Tahomaru, I know… I know this is stupid to say after the fact, but… I’m sorry. I never wanted things to end the way they did. I…”

What did he want to say? ‘Sorry I stabbed you to death’? ‘Sorry our father pitted us against each other’? ‘Sorry I chose my body over the fate of your land’? He knew a spirit would know if there was any insincerity and he couldn’t say that last one in earnest. 

The white form slouched arrogantly and looked off to the side.  _ “You know, one advantage of being dead is that you see things with more clarity. Certain truths reveal themselves — or perhaps it’s the change in perspective.  _

_ “I never thought our honoured father would lie to me, or manipulate me for his own ends, but he did. He forced my hand.” _ The white spirit turned his incorporeal head towards his brother. _ “And I, in turn, forced yours. _

_ “If you had escaped that fight I would have hunted you down. You would get no respite, I would not have relented until one of us was dead. I was just so… convinced that you were the one that stood to bring blood and destruction to our land and I become so desperate to protect it that I would have done anything. Just like you would have done anything to get your body back, Aniue.” _

Hyakkimaru shook his head desperately. “I wouldn’t have done it unless you gave me no choice!”

_ “I didn’t, so you did.” _

_ "I don't forgive you,”  _ __  
  


Hyakkimaru swallowed hard as he gripped the hem of his kimono. He had been expecting this, but it was still hard to hear.

_ “...but I no longer think that you'll bring ruin to the land. _

_ "If the Daigo clan does collapse, it will be due to the actions of our father, and my own. You...you’re just a pawn in all this, just like I was." _

There was an uneasy silence and Hyakkimaru felt tears stinging his eyes again. He knew it was selfish to wish for closure, but he still felt like they were going in frustrating circles. 

He then felt an emotion enter his head, which felt weird without the accompanying sound. Did his brother just sigh without breath?

_ “To tell you the truth, I was ready to hate you when I died. Right before the end, I was ready to curse your name and your existence for all eternity. But then you stabbed me and our eyes met, and for some reason that anger was gone. Do you remember that?” _

Tears were spilling out of Hyakkimaru’s eyes without his consent and he didn’t dare move to wipe them away, so he nodded.

_ “And once I was a spirit, I followed you trying to understand why. I think now I know why. I saw you crying then. Your grief was genuine. _

_ “I called you a monster, a scourge on our land, a thing to be destroyed. I attacked you from the moment I knew our connection. But you cried for me. _

_ “We barely knew each other, and you cried for me.” _

Hyakkimaru gasped, because he had seen the white spirit lean forward but he hadn’t expected to feel his fingers on his cheek, wiping away his tears. He opened his eyes, one real and one glass. He was in the graveyard with the frogs croaking and Dororo some distance away humming to himself, but he didn’t feel alone. He brought his hand to his cheek and he knew that he hadn’t imagined the touch. He allowed himself a small sad smile. It was as if a weight had been lifted off him along with those tears.


	2. Ototo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Tahomaru gets what he wished for?

Tahomaru should be happy, he should be ecstatic. 

He had vanquished the threat. He’d protected the land. He’d earned his father’s praise. 

So why wasn’t he jubilant?

He looked at the faces of his two trusted retainers, but even that failed to give him any comfort. Mutsu and Hyogo had been distant since they had returned to the castle and Tahomaru had the feeling that this wasn’t temporary. Something had broken between them; something they couldn’t bring back.

Just like a life couldn’t be brought back.

The rest of the Daigo army and the servants were in a festive mood. Today they had scored a decisive victory against the Asakura army and the young heir Tahomaru had earned his first honour in battle by killing that demon child who had come to menace their land.

Tahomaru couldn’t bring himself to join the festivities or face the rest of his servants. He couldn’t even bring himself to face his father. And his mother… well, he was glad she was alive at all. 

He ran one hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes with the other. He knew why he wasn’t happy. 

It wasn’t fair. 

He told Hyakkimaru that much.

His parents had done something monstrous, something no loving parents would do. And he had perpetuated it. 

He could not get Hyakkimaru’s face out of his mind. His confusion, his anger, his determination and finally his sadness. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live, to get his body back from the demons. It was so logical and yet unacceptable.

Such a strong desire to live, and Tahomaru had snuffed it out. 

“I did what I had to do, right? T—there was no other choice. His continued existence meant catastrophes would befall our land, right?”

Neither Hyogo nor Mutsu would meet his eye. He felt rage and panic rising in him.

“Answer me!”

Mutsu’s pressed her mouth into a thin, hard line, as if there were a lot she wanted to say but she was keeping it in. “...My lord, let’s get you out of those dirty clothes.” 

Tahomaru wanted to scream at her for avoiding the subject, but he had no idea what else he wanted her to say. He had made a decision and seen it through. There was no turning back. 

“I can undress myself. Leave! I want to be alone!”

The two servant siblings got up and bowed respectfully to him. Mutsu left the room first, her expression hard, and Tahomaru knew her well enough to realize she was also struggling with her own involvement in this. It was her arrows that struck Hyakkimaru, slowing him down and making him vulnerable to Tahomaru’s final blow. It was also Hyogo’s club that dealt a painful strike to his ribs, probably breaking them. All three of them had worked in tandem to do this.

Tahomaru realized that his own uncertainty was causing his friends their distress. If he were more resolute, they wouldn’t doubt this decision either.

But right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care about their hardship. He didn’t care about being a good leader. He didn’t care about what his father would say. He didn’t care if his mother would live. To hell with the land of Daigo. To hell with it all.

* * *

Tahomaru didn’t know how long he sat there stewing in his own bitterness. It must have been hours; the lamp had long since run out of oil and left him in complete darkness, and the festive sounds outside had ceased as the soldiers went to bed. 

He was still wearing the soiled clothes from the day, stained with his own brother’s blood. Enough time had passed that it was no longer damp on him, but rather caked stiff. 

Tahomaru might have stayed that way until dawn if he hadn’t heard furtive steps in the hallway. It took his tormented mind longer to process than usual but, eventually, he realized that it wasn’t normal for someone to be wandering around in the dead of night. He looked up as the door to his room slid open and a small figure peered inside. 

There was a shout and running footsteps and the glint of a blade in the moonlight. Tahomaru reacted instinctively and grabbed the wrist of the holder of the blade before it could reach him. He stood up and lifted this entire person off the ground in doing so. He realized it was a child. 

“You murderer! You piece of shit! You killed him! You killed him!” The child was screaming, trying desperately to break Tahomaru’s grip on their wrist. 

Tahomaru did not let go, more dumbfounded than everything. He barely reacted when the child sank their teeth into his knuckles and drew blood. 

Their thrashing about was obviously loud and before long Hyogo came into the room, sword in one hand and a lamp in the other. Mutsu was right behind him, though she stayed in the hallway to block anyone trying to run away. With the light, Tahomaru finally saw that this was the boy in the green kimono who accompanied his brother. Dororo. It was the name Hyakkimaru had called before he died. 

A new wave of anguish threatened to crush him. Hyakkimaru had a family outside of the Daigos. At least one person, maybe more, who would miss him, who would be sad, who would want revenge for him. 

Tahomaru breathed hard and looked at the flailing child who was a monument to his sins. The anguish was quickly replaced with an ugly, venomous jealousy at this peasant who had managed to get close to Hyakkimaru, to get to know him and care for him.

“Dororo, let go of the knife.” His voice felt alien, not his own. 

“No! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you like you killed my Aniki!”

Resentment continued to rise inside Tahomaru. He had never gotten to call Hyakkimaru “Aniue” except once, and here was this brat saying “Aniki” as if he had any actual claim to being Hyakkimaru’s brother. 

He began squeezing that small wrist until Dororo yelped in pain and let go of the knife. The blade clattered to the floor and Hyogo picked it up. Dororo also fell to the floor on his knees. Tahomaru kicked him on the shoulder, making him roll to the far side of the room. He drew his blade out of the sheath and pointed it at the small thief. He took a step forward. 

He froze when he saw the faces of Hyogo and Mutsu. Hyogo’s face was petrified in shock. Mutsu’s eyebrows were raised in horrified disappointment. They were appalled. Tahomaru looked at his raised sword and he was disgusted with himself. Was he really about to kill a small child? Was this the sort of person he’d become?   
  
He looked at his friends again with pleading eyes, though he didn’t know if he wanted understanding or admonishment. Both of them were tense, but neither had moved to stop him. And they wouldn’t. He was the lord and they would go along with whatever decision he made. But Tahomaru knew that their hearts would change if he did this. Their admiration and trust in him would be shattered. Perhaps it already was. He closed his eyes in contrition and sheathed his sword. If he lost Mutsu and Hyogo, he’d truly have nothing and no one. 

Dororo had raised an arm defensively over his head when Tahomaru brandished his sword, and only now after it was sheathed did he tentatively lower it. He looked up at the three bushi towering over him — stronger, more experienced, better armed — and there wasn’t an ounce of fear in those defiant eyes. There were streaks on his cheeks where tears had flowed earlier, but he wasn’t going to cry now. His eyes bore into Tahomaru with sheer hatred. 

“Aniki did nothing wrong! He was just trying to get his body back, and you killed him! You — you asshole! You’re just as bad as that bastard father of yours who sold him to the demons!”

There were more footsteps in the hallway and the voices of men asking what was going on, which made both Dororo and Tahomaru flinch. Even though he had been ready to kill a moment ago, Tahomaru did not want the night guard to get involved in this. This was his fight, his mess. He was about to say so when Mutsu ordered the men away, saying the situation was under her control. The footsteps receded with less urgency than they had approached. The archer turned her attention back to the room and was met with her master’s enraged face.

“ _ Your _ control?  _ You _ have the situation under  _ your _ control?” Tahomaru spat the words with cruelty at the surprised girl. “Is there anything  _ you _ would like to take care of, oh dear Mutsu, or might I be allowed to make a fucking decision for once?  _ I’m _ in charge here, remember?”

Mutsu’s expression changed from surprise to sorrow and Tahomaru wanted to kick himself. He forced himself to look away so he wouldn’t lose his composure right then and there. Hadn’t he determined moments ago that these were his dearest friends? And yet here he was, being cruel to them. Being cruel to a child who had just lost his family. 

He decided he was not himself tonight. He didn’t know if he could be himself again. It definitely wasn’t going to happen while Dororo was still here. There was something in this child’s hatred and determination that stirred a weird feeling in Tahomaru. Something different from the bitterness that he’d been drowning in. Tahomaru didn’t like how much it affected him.

"It's a waste of my time to kill you right now. Get out of my sight and come back when you're good enough to give me a real fight." 

He threw the sliding door fully open, slamming it against the wall in the process. Dororo did not move.

“Are you deaf, or just stupid? Go! Leave!”

Dororo was up, his fists raised. He was shaking but his eyes did not waver. “Fight me you bastard!”

“Unbelievable. Do you want to die that badly?” Tahomaru grimaced. “I’m letting you go today, you ungrateful brat. Do you want an oath that we’ll fight later? I’ll give you a fair fight. Fairer than the one I gave m — your brother. You have my word of honour.”

“Your honour means nothing to me, scum!” Dororo spat at his feet. 

Tahomaru took two steps forward and slapped Dororo across the face, hard. The young thief had not been ready for how quickly the samurai moved, or how hard he hit. He stood his ground but his eyes faltered for the first time. It was dawning on him how vastly outmatched he was. 

There was a tense pause while the two of them glared at each other. Then Tahomaru closed his eyes and sighed. Exhaustion was catching up to him.

“You can’t avenge him as you are now.” He whispered. 

A few moments passed and he heard the small footsteps leave the room. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times, trying to sort out his thoughts. Was he actually hoping that urchin would come back, fully grown, and stick a knife in his ribs? Would that be justice? 

No, he’d done the right thing. What a leader would do. Leaders had to make sacrifices. It was simply unfortunate that the sacrifice had to be his own brother. Right? …Right? He knew his friends were still there, waiting to be dismissed, but he did not dare look at their faces. Would a lord feel this much shame and regret?

He looked at his clenched fists and forced himself to relax his hands. The hands of a murderer. Kinslayer. He didn’t feel like a leader at all. 


End file.
